


First Kiss/Second Chance

by PeppyBismilk



Series: Seungchuchu Week Stories [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Romance, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Seungchuchu Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk
Summary: Once upon a time, Phichit and Seung-gil were training partners and friends (or at least that’s what Phichit thought). Their first Junior Grand Prix event changes everything, leaving Phichit wondering where they stand.Written for Seungchuchu Week 2020, Day 3: History and Day 6: Competition
Relationships: Phichit Chulanont/Lee Seung Gil
Series: Seungchuchu Week Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623043
Comments: 30
Kudos: 48
Collections: Seungchuchu Week 2020





	1. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit and Seung-gil are training partners, friends, and...?
> 
> Written for Seungchuchu Week 2020, Day 3: History

Hands trembling and heart pounding, Phichit stretches. Cheers break through his musical fortress and he bumps the volume on his earbuds up one click.  _ You’ll ruin your hearing,  _ echoes Coach Koval’s voice in his head, but Phichit would rather hear the bass line than his own rushing blood and chants of someone else’s name from the stands. Phichit’s not jealous—he wishes all his competitors the best—but it’s distracting.

Chatting about this moment with Seung-gil back at their training rink feels like a lifetime ago. Their first Junior Grand Prix event! Their first trip to America! Just last week, Phichit was drooling over the selfie potential—hot dogs, baseball, the Statue of Liberty—like it was going to be some kind of vacation. 

The truth is, they don’t have time to sightsee. They’re here to compete. It feels like everyone else at the event is younger than they are and yet has somehow been at this a lot longer. Everyone has to start somewhere, but Phichit wishes he had started sooner. 

How is he supposed to handle seniors someday if he can’t even handle a Junior Grand Prix qualifier? How is he supposed to get through the long program if he can’t even face the short? How is he—

His earbuds pop out and noise rushes in like floodwater. Phichit looks up. “What the—”

Seung-gil stands in front of him, holding the cord. He looks serious but his eyes are soft, and Phichit almost forgets to be scared. That’s how Seung-gil always looks, and that makes it easier to pretend today is just about the two of them, trying to outdo each other’s jumps and spins. Having fun.

But today is so much more than that.

“You okay?” Seung-gil asks.

“Jitters,” says Phichit. He swallows. “I guess it just feels really different from other events we’ve done, you know?”

Seung-gil shrugs. “It’s not. You go out, you skate, you get scored. You’ve been doing it since you were six.”

It sounds so simple when Seung-gil says it. He gets nervous sometimes, too, but he shows it differently. He shows all of his emotions differently. That’s just how he is. And after two years of training together, Phichit likes to think he knows him pretty well. 

(Phichit’s seen him cry exactly three times: twice because of competitions and once because of  _ Marley and Me.  _ To be fair, that movie made Phichit cry too, but Phichit didn’t bother counting how many times Seung-gil saw him cry. Phichit cries whenever the gelato bar by their apartment complex discontinues a flavor, and he’s not ashamed to admit it.)

“It’s not exactly the same,” Phichit points out. Seung-gil responds with a tilt of his head and Phichit takes his hand, squeezes it tight. “I have you to support me. And you’ve got me.”

Seung-gil’s smiles are precious, and Phichit’s proud to say he’s seen too many of those to count. 

This is just another day, he tells himself. Another day skating with Seung-gil. They’re in the same group, so it counts as skating together. But Phichit’s hands are still shaking. 

And then, Seung-gil leans forward and kisses his smile.

Seung-gil kissed his teeth. 

It’s over before Phichit has a chance to process it. 

“What was that?” The words come out of Phichit’s mouth automatically, and Seung-gil’s lips twitch. Phichit can’t stop staring at his lips. He should try to say something else. “Not that I didn’t—um, did you just…”

Seung-gil wrinkles his nose. “For good luck. You were nervous.”

“So you kissed me?” Phichit can still feel where Seung-gil’s lips touched his teeth. The slivers of skin where their lips actually touched burn even hotter. 

Fixating on Seung-gil’s mouth means no movement escapes his sight, and when the corners of Seung-gil’s mouth turn down, Phichit’s heart races. He grabs Seung-gil’s hands.

“I’m not mad!” Phichit insists. “You caught me off guard, that’s all!”

“Oh.”

That’s all Seung-gil says. It’s not surprising. He doesn’t talk that much when they train together or even when they hang out. Normally, that’s fine, but Phichit wouldn’t mind an explanation this time. Not that they have time to figure any of this out. They need to head out for their warm up. How is Phichit supposed to focus when—

—when he’s actually feeling pretty calm? 

His hands aren’t shaking anymore. They’re actually feeling warm, which never happens on the ice. His chest is warm, too, and his arms and legs feel electrified, like when he’s just landed a triple. 

But Seung-gil can’t tell. He can’t feel Phichit floating instead of falling, muscles itching rather than twitching. He doesn’t know how much he’s helped. One of Seung-gil’s cheeks is pinched in, like he’s chewing the inside of it, and he’s looking everywhere but at Phichit.

_ Oh no!  _ Now  _ Seung-gil _ is nervous! Almost like he absorbed Phichit’s jitters and took them on himself. But that can’t be right. It’s not like him to be so selfless. Still, Phichit feels responsible, and there’s only one way he can fix it.

He grabs Seung-gil’s shoulders just as the announcer calls their group to the ice. There’s no time, but Phichit wouldn’t know what to do even if he had an hour, so seconds are fine.

He presses his lips to Seung-gil’s closed mouth. 

“For luck!” Phichit says. His lips can barely contain the tingling explosions beneath his skin, but he’ll think about that later. For now, he just grins. 

Seung-gil doesn’t show his teeth, but he’s definitely smiling back. 

When the short program is said and done, they’re still smiling. Phichit has the lead by four points, and they both have new personal bests. 

Once they’re back at their hotel, Phichit remembers what happened earlier. It must hit Seung-gil at the same time, because they move to opposite sides of the room.

“Great work today,” says Coach Koval, again. “Relax and get changed, and I’ll take you both to dinner in an hour.” 

The only indication that he saw them kissing is a sideways glance before he closes the door. Then, it’s just Phichit and Seung-gil.

Seung-gil stays in familiar territory. “Your triple lutz-triple toe was clean today.”

That’s a high compliment from him. “Thanks,” says Phichit, heart still floating. “Your triple axel was awesome.”

“I know.” That’s Seung-gil’s way of showing gratitude.

The room falls silent and Phichit turns to his suitcase. He takes off his track jacket and says, casually, “So, about earlier...”

Seung-gil makes a frantic noise. Phichit whirls around in terror—is he choking? Why else would he make a noise like that? But other than the fact that his face resembles a tomato, Seung-gil is fine. 

Something clicks; Seung-gil doesn’t want to talk about it while they’re undressing. And that’s when Phichit remembers he’s already halfway out of his costume. Seung-gil is staring at him like they didn’t both change in here earlier. Like he didn’t help Phichit zip up. 

“Okay,” Phichit says. The air feels different now. Thicker. “I’ll go change in the bathroom.”

Phichit does, without giving the shift between them much thought. He catches himself before he throws the door open wide, cracks it instead and asks, “All done?”

“Yeah.”

Phichit hangs his costume next to Seung-gil’s and sits down on his bed. Seung-gil just stares at him, unreadable.

“Can we talk about it now?” Seung-gil doesn’t respond, but at least he doesn’t make that strangled noise this time. “The kissing,” Phichit adds.

Seung-gil blinks, but his expression doesn’t change. “I like you,” he says, voice even as ever. “I wanted to tell you. What else is there to talk about?”

His confession, if that’s what it is, renders Phichit speechless. Phichit should say something back. That’s what people do in movies, but the truth is, he’s never thought about Seung-gil like that before. 

His lack of a response doesn’t seem to bother Seung-gil. He sits down on the other bed and turns on the TV. They watch the American version of  _ Iron Chef _ until Coach Koval comes back, and it’s just like when they hang out back in Italy.

Only they kissed today. Twice.

They’re back at the hotel after a quick dinner, but Seung-gil stops Coach Koval to talk in the lobby. Phichit goes on to the room. 

He should get to bed early, but now that he’s alone, his head spins. 

Seung-gil likes him, enough to want to kiss him. And in that moment, Phichit felt compelled to kiss him, too. It was Phichit’s first kiss, but was it Seung-gil’s? 

For some reason, Phichit really, really wants it to be. 

He likes Seung-gil as a friend, as a training partner, but beyond that? Phichit hasn’t thought about it. Skating, school, and friends are more than enough to fill his plate, not to mention his social media accounts and his hamsters. But out of everything, he likes spending time with Seung-gil the most.

Maybe that’s what Seung-gil meant, too.  _ I like you as a friend. _ And people in Italy kiss to say hello and goodbye—on the cheek, but still. Seung-gil must have picked up on that. When it comes to social stuff, Seung-gil has a tendency to get some of the details wrong. It’s pretty cute, like when he stands super close to Phichit while they talk, or when he doesn’t just tell Phichit there’s an eyelash on his cheek but actually plucks it off himself. 

That has to be it. Phichit vows to ask Seung-gil about it when he’s done talking to their coach. He kills time on his phone to distract himself until Seung-gil comes back, but he falls asleep alone in the room. 

When his alarm goes off in the morning, he wakes up to Seung-gil’s stormy gray eyes staring at him from the other bed. 

Phichit tests the waters. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Seung-gil replies, like always. Then, he gets up and showers. Apparently, he meant it when he said there was nothing to discuss. Phichit almost brings it up at breakfast, but then Coach Koval sits down and Seung-gil stands up. 

Whatever they talked about last night hangs in the air, mysterious and unresolved. The worry gives Phichit something else to focus on.

“Is everything okay?” he asks after Seung-gil leaves. Coach Koval nods, tight and jerky. 

Phichit asks Seung-gil the same question when they’re warming up for the free skate. 

“I’m nervous,” Seung-gil says. He stares and Phichit’s gaze drifts down—is he puckering his lips?  _ Right,  _ Phichit remembers,  _ his new thing. _

The coyness is very new, but that’s a game Phichit can play, too. He bats his eyelashes. “Need a little luck?”

This time, Seung-gil’s aim is true. It doesn’t feel like a greeting at all, or even a lucky charm. It doesn’t feel awkward, either, but it makes Phichit warm from toes to the top of his head. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end in a good way, and he wonders:  _ Does he  _ like me _ like me? Do I like him that way, too? _

But neither of them can afford to think about that right now, so he pushes it aside for later. They’ll have time after they skate. 

The next best thing to winning is watching Seung-gil win. Silver feels pretty good, too. 

Tears trickle down Seung-gil’s face as he steps off the podium. They must be happy tears, no matter how sad he looks on the outside. He’s overwhelmed, he has to be. Phichit wraps him in an embrace, silver clanging into gold as they connect. 

“You won,” Phichit reminds him, heart overflowing. 

“I know,” Seung-gil mumbles into Phichit’s hair. He squeezes back so tightly the medals dig into Phichit’s ribs. 

“It’s okay,” Phichit whispers. Like his mother does to comfort him when he’s sick, Phichit strokes Seung-gil’s back. “You did great and I’m”—his voice cracks—“I’m so proud, I could kiss you.”

Seung-gil pulls back and Phichit’s heart leaps, but when he sees Seung-gil’s trembling lips and tear-soaked cheeks, his heart plummets to his skates. Not happy tears.

When Seung-gil finally speaks, Phichit’s heart sinks clear through the floor.

“I’m changing coaches and moving back to Korea.”

Four times. Phichit has seen Seung-gil cry exactly four times. The day Seung-gil moves back to Korea, Phichit cries too, but there’s no one there to see.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Songbirdsara, phichithamsters, and ladyofthefl0wers for beta reading this one for me!


	2. Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit gains an accidental rival and a second chance in the run up to the Four Continents Championships.
> 
> Written for Seungchuchu Week 2020, Day 6: Competition

First kisses are supposed to be unforgettable. For better or worse, that first press of lips to lips (or lips to teeth) is forever, even if the relationship isn’t.

But Seung-gil doesn’t seem to remember it at all. It’s been a while: four years, four seasons, four sets of new programs, to be exact.

Zero contact with Seung-gil. 

It isn’t worth dwelling on, and Phichit usually doesn’t, but he’s in the mood to wallow tonight. 

Putting on a brave face after the Grand Prix Final comes easily. After all, Phichit is genuinely thrilled for Yuuri. Phichit’s proud of himself, too. No one can say he didn’t give it his all, and making the Final is a huge accomplishment. But no one likes to come in last. Even Phichit isn’t that good of a sport.

And now that the medals have been distributed and the banquet is over, he’s out of smiles. It’s times like these when his thoughts drift to Seung-gil. Phichit has no right to be sad—Seung-gil didn’t even make the GPF, and if Phichit were a pettier person, he might let himself feel smug about that.

But Phichit is too good of a sport to think things like that.

It worked out in his advantage regardless; by chance, he hasn’t competed against Seung-gil since their last Junior Grand Prix (at least not directly), and those scars still cut deep. 

Seung-gil hadn’t talked to anyone but his new coach that day. Phichit had waved, but Seung-gil had walked by like no one was there. When Seung-gil wasn’t skating, warming up, or receiving his scores, he was nowhere to be found. 

It’s hard to see it as anything but personal, even in hindsight. They shared a rink for two years, for goodness sake. They roomed together countless times and even had inside jokes.

Oh, and they had kissed each other. Twice. 

They never got the chance to talk about that.

It’s been years since they competed. Phichit isn’t ready to go through that again, but the Four Continents Championships are coming whether he likes it or not. As a skater, he can’t wait—he had to drop out last year for a minor sprain, and he’s determined not to miss them again.

But regarding Seung-gil, Phichit has no idea what he’s going to do. (Aside from wipe the floor with him. But he’s going to wipe the floor with Yuuri, too. It’s not personal.)

He likes to think he’ll be cordial and professional, but it’s been so long since he’s seen Seung-gil in person that all bets are off. He wants to chew Seung-gil out for ignoring him, for getting a new phone and never giving Phichit the number, for saying he liked him and then ignoring all his SNS posts.

Phichit wonders if the silence is partly his own fault.

But whenever Phichit recalls Seung-gil’s confession— _I like you. I wanted to tell you. What else is there to talk about?—_ he hits the boards. There’s nowhere to go. He can’t process it. 

He’s in the exact same place he was four years ago, only now he can legally drink.

So he does. 

Drinking alone is sad, but at least there won’t be any witnesses to see him make a fool of himself. That’s Phichit’s secret—no one can take embarrassing pictures of him if he’s the one behind the camera.

He powers his phone down just in case. 

But his phone won’t stop buzzing in the morning, which is weird because the last thing he remembers is turning it off. He rolls over in bed to silence it, but his arm is dead weight. Totally asleep. He can’t even lift it.

He grabs his phone with his good arm while the other prickles back to life. Thanks to the throbbing pain behind his eye sockets, he has to hold the phone right by his face to see it.

Maybe his banquet selfie went viral.

The hangover has nothing on the shock that hits him when his notifications come into focus.

He went viral, all right. Just not in the way he expected.

In his drunken brilliance, he had apparently recorded an Instagram story. Phichit rubs his eyes and fires it up, almost afraid to watch.

There he is, several drinks deep, sporting bedhead and way too much energy for one o’clock in the morning—yikes, is that when he recorded this? 

At least he doesn’t look or sound as drunk as he was. 

_ “I’m calling you out, at-Seung-dash-gillee!” _

_ Oh shit,  _ he had called Seung-gil by his username. That little shot of embarrassment doesn’t even sink in before his drunk self points two fingers at his own eyes and then turns them to the camera, as if to say “I’m watching you.”

_ “We have some unfinished business, Mr. Lee. You know what I’m talking about!” _

“Shit, shit, shit…” Video Phichit grins like he hasn’t slept in three days. 

_ “I think it’s time we settled our beef once and for all, and I know just the place!” _

Blissfully unaware of the headache and regret in store for him, drunk Phichit pounds one fist into his other hand.

_ “You and me, Lee Seung-gil! Four Continents! I’m comin’ for ya!” _

He winks, the video cuts off, and presently, Phichit considers deleting it, but it’s too late now. The video has thousands of views and he has hundreds of comments waiting in his direct messages. 

He scrolls through them because he has no self-control. Everyone wants to know what he’s talking about. 

Beyond the Instagram comments, there’s commentary on Twitter, too. 

_ Seunggil edged Phichit out for gold at their last junior GPF so obviously he wants a rematch _

Swing and a miss.

_ idk, this sounds kinda personal...  _

That’s more like it.

Texts from Yuuri, Guang Hong, and Leo await him, too, all varying degrees of “Are you okay?”

Nothing from Seung-gil. No surprise there.

But one of the texts is from Celestino, offering to meet him for breakfast and coffee. Phichit and his hangover can’t say no to that, and there’s a chance Celestino hasn’t seen the video.

At least Celestino buys him espresso before he shatters that dream. 

“So, Seung-gil Lee is your rival now?” 

Phichit drinks the entire shot at once and winces. “Something like that.” 

“Well, if it motivates you, then I’m all for it.” But Celestino’s smile soon fades. “Just don’t let it get out of hand. You two used to be friends, right?”

Phichit doesn’t know how to answer.

His phone buzzes with another notification before he tries. 

He blinks. Several times, actually, because this can’t be real.

Seung-gil tagged him in a story. 

The room narrows to just Phichit and his phone, and all he can hear is his own heartbeat.

He taps it.

Seung-gil’s face fills his screen. He’s so close to the camera Phichit could count his eyebrow hairs if the quality was better. That’s where his emotions live: in his eyebrows. Flat mouth, neutral eyes, but that little wrinkle above his nose says it all. It always has.

Only today, that crease does things to Phichit’s stomach—things completely independent of how much he drank last night. 

Seung-gil stares at the camera for a good 10 seconds. Tension builds, like he’s leading up to a jump. Phichit’s holding his breath.

_ “You’re on.” _

Those two little words send Phichit’s heart into a loop. The caffeine hits and he’s dizzy, spinning without spotting in a breakneck spiral. 

One thing is clear: that look is doing it for Phichit, and he watches the story six more times once he’s back in his room alone (thank goodness Instagram doesn’t say how many times the same person watches a story). But everything else is mud.

The anger, the hurt—those haven’t gone away, only now there’s desire in the mix, making for a strange, frustrating cocktail Phichit’s never tasted before. 

_ Ugh. _ Thinking about cocktails is a mistake.

Skating fans widen their collective eyes but Phichit is less concerned about what they think. He sends Seung-gil the fire emoji as a reaction—Seung-gil used to like puzzles, after all.

But when the fog lifts and Phichit is back at his home rink, something occurs to him.

He has only a vague understanding of what he challenged Seung-gil  _ to,  _ exactly. A conversation? A skate-off?

A kiss?

That one makes Phichit blush. 

Oh, to have a piece of his drunken clarity without the side-effects.

He settles on a conversation. After four years, they need to have one, and that’s the toughest challenge for Seung-gil.

But it’s hard for him, too. Not the talking part, but owning up to his share of the blame. Sorting out his own feelings.

Phichit gave up on reaching out, after all. He moved on. Both of their careers took off, and Phichit got a new coach, too. Made new friends. 

But it’s not the same. Yuuri knows Phichit pretty well, but Phichit and Seung-gil used to lie awake spilling secrets until they were silly with drowsiness. Sleep is too crucial to do that anymore, and Phichit can’t even remember all the conversations they had, but he’s willing to bet Seung-gil knows things about him no one else does.

Maybe it’s nostalgia, or the fact that he’s older and the stakes are higher in seniors, but those days with Seung-gil are even more precious to him now. 

And the more times he watches Seung-gil’s story, the more he starts to think it’s not just the carefree, youthful camaraderie he misses.

Of all the kisses he’s had, with friends and not-quite-friends alike, not a single one made him feel the same way as Seung-gil’s. 

He always chalked it up to some kind of first kiss magic. Every kiss since had been objectively better, and yet the one that sticks with him is that stiff peck on the teeth.

It calmed his nerves and sparked something that’s still burning four years later. Shivers hit his spine just thinking about it, sharper than time and distance should allow. 

Maybe that’s worth exploring.

But maybe he’s not ready to give his heart to someone who ignored him for four years. 

He can’t decide, so he puts it off in favor of skating. Like he’s done with everything else in his life. 

At least now he has the perfect face to picture below him on the podium. 

Or in bed.

Phichit skates that thought out of his head and keeps skating so it stays out.

It’s a good thing he’s in top form when he gets to Taiwan, because the press is unusually interested in his warmup. Making the GPF must have raised his stock. A reporter pounces the moment Phichit leaves the practice area. 

“What should we expect from your showdown with Lee Seung-gil?”

That’s his first indication that #BattleChuLee is not just a niche movement in the figure skating fandom anymore. 

“He looks good, doesn’t he?” Phichit offers. Let the press make what they will of that. “Coming off first place at Nationals, I know he’s hungry for another medal.” Meat and medals, that’s his diet. Just like always. Phichit lets the memories fuel him. “But I’m hungry, too, and I’ve got something to prove.”

“Katsuki, Altin, and Leroy aren’t going to make it easy for you, and we’re expecting strong showings from China and the United States, too.”

Phichit nods. Grins. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Licks his lips. They’re chapped—he’s not being weird. “But there’s only one person on my mind this weekend.” 

He leaves it at that and meets Yuuri, Viktor, Guang Hong, and Leo for a light dinner. Nobody gets naked this time. 

“Is this rivalry real?” Viktor asks between bites of noodles. “Or are you just playing it up for the press?”

Yuuri casts Phichit a nervous glance. Out of everyone there, he knows the most about it. 

Phichit shrugs. “I guess it’s real. We haven’t talked about it, though. Not beyond the whole Instagram thing.” 

“People tried to stir up something between me and Guang Hong once, but we didn’t go through with it,” Leo says. 

A blush spreads over Guang Hong’s cheeks. “No one would have believed it, anyway.”

With the way they openly dedicate their programs to each other, Phichit is inclined to agree. He’s also a little jealous.

“My Yuris”—Phichit wonders how Yuri Plisetsky would react to Viktor claiming him like that—“make publicity stunts all on their own!” Almost-smug pride bleeds into Viktor’s voice and Yuuri looks sheepish.

“It’s not on purpose,” he insists. 

Viktor scratches his chin and his expression goes serious. “There’s something to be said for having a rival, though. Without Yuri, who’s going to push you here, Yuuri? Maybe Otabek?”

“Hey, what about us?!” All three of them (Leo, Guang Hong, and Phichit) protest at once. 

Phichit pounds the table, but he’s grinning. “If you want the gold, you’re going to have to fight me for it!” 

“Us, too!” Guang Hong and Leo chime in. 

“And don’t forget about Seung-gil!” Phichit sure can’t. 

Viktor’s still stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But aren’t we forgetting someone else?” 

_JJ_ , Phichit realizes when he’s back in his room. _ We forgot JJ. _ Which is a pretty big mistake, since he’s hot on Yuuri’s heels in terms of scores. 

But the thought passes as soon as Phichit checks his social media.

The press got to Seung-gil, too. And his response hits Phichit deep in his gut.

_ “I’m going to eat him alive.” _

Phichit hopes it’s a promise. The media can interpret his “like” however they want. 

If he hadn’t spent all day skating, Seung-gil’s sound bite might have kept him up all night, but the possibilities color his dreams.

After a cold shower in the morning, he heads to the hotel gym to stretch. 

He’s not alone. 

Seung-gil looks up at the click of the door. 

Their eyes meet, and the silence echoes in Phichit’s head for years. 

There’s so much to say, but Phichit can’t think of a single word. 

He stretches pointedly in Seung-gil’s direction. Seung-gil’s glare bores two new holes in his ass. Phichit imagines a bowling ball and cracks a laugh. 

They used to laugh about stuff like that together. 

“It happened.” 

It’s always Seung-gil who breaks the silence. Phichit stands upright, turns to look at him. 

No forehead wrinkle. No nothing.

“What happened?”

Seung-gil’s sitting on the floor in a side split. Voice steady, he bends to one side. “I stopped having friends. It wasn’t my coach, or my country. It was me.”

“Why?”

Ribs and arms complete a perfect arc—in his Almavivo costume, Seung-gil would be a rainbow. “It hurt.” 

Guilt no stretch can ease tightens Phichit’s stomach.

“We both outgrew Coach Koval. It wasn’t personal,” says Seung-gil.

Phichit purses just lips. “Yeah, but it felt kind of personal when you ignored my messages for four years.”

The rainbow shifts to the other side. “You stopped trying after two.”

So he  _ did  _ see them. Phichit can’t decide if that makes him happy or sad. Maybe both. “The ball was in your court.”

“You rejected me.” Seung-gil knits his brows and breaks the arc.

Phichit almost falls over. “I did not!” 

The creases get deeper, and Phichit wants to press the bump of flesh between them. Like a button. 

“I said I liked you.” Seung-gil says. “You didn’t. I left you alone.”

Guilt bleeds into frustration into anger, and he can’t keep any of them out of his voice. “You said there was nothing to talk about! Besides, we were sixteen! I didn’t know how I felt about anything then!” 

“I knew.” 

All of it—those two simple words, that raw tone, the naked truth in Seung-gil’s eyes—twists Phichit’s heart, stomach, and lungs, ties them up in knots too tight to breathe through. 

All they can do is stare at each other. Exposed.

The rope snaps. 

It’s like Phichit’s first breath. 

“I know now.”

Seung-gil stands. He doesn’t respond to Phichit’s confession, not right away. Calm, almost cold, he moves for the door. Opens it without looking back. “Tell me on the ice.”

Nerves Phichit hasn’t felt since juniors tense him up, and he has to stretch for half an hour to reclaim some semblance of normal.

He never quite makes it.

Celestino follows his eyes to Seung-gil before the warmup. “Don’t think about this rivalry,” he says. “Focus on what makes you happy. That’s who you are.”

And with a squeeze of his shoulders, Celestino sends him off. Phichit’s feet carry him to Seung-gil.

They don’t have long. Deja vu prickles at the back of his brain until a camera flash fires. That’s different. 

But some things never change. 

Seung-gil’s chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Just like when we were six,” Phichit tells him. “Or sixteen.”

“Not exactly.” Seung-gil frowns. It’s Phichit’s fault he’s nervous (again), even though Seung-gil doesn’t come out and say it. “I don’t like being your rival.”

Phichit smiles, as if he can push reassurance and confidence through his teeth. 

“Then let’s write a new story.”

The world’s watching, but if there’s a collective gasp when he grabs Seung-gil’s shoulders and kisses his lips, neither of them hear it. 

It feels like the first time (only without the teeth).

And Seung-gil wasn’t kidding; when he kisses back, he does eat a piece of Phichit alive, a piece of him that’s been hurting for a long time. 

Phichit won’t miss it. 

He pulls back, and Seung-gil’s eyes are shining. 

Five times, Phichit’s seen him cry, but this is the first time it’s because he’s happy.

Tears threaten to spill over Phichit’s cheeks, too, and Seung-gil brushes one away with his little finger. “Eighty-seven,” he whispers.

Of course he’s keeping count. 

Phichit kisses him one more time.

For luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little raw emotion and a hopeful ending for your weekend. Thanks for reading. ❤️


End file.
